There is a flame that never dies
by Beatles-McLennon
Summary: She'd first seen him standing in front of a crowd of about six hundred people, yelling passionately about freedom and hope. *An OC character, if you squint there's romance but it's more so just vague description really* -Review please Xx


She'd first seen him standing in front of a crowd of about six hundred people, yelling passionately about freedom and hope. She'd stared at him, gotten hopelessly distracted by his eyes and his face, so distracted that she got knocked to the ground by an over excited crowd member. A young man by the name of Courfeyrac, he smiles like a child so much so that he seems out of place in the riot. He gave her his hand and said in a smug voice that more people were going to show up and that it had been the smallest turn out so far, she almost didn't hear him because she was staring at the man with blonde hair and fiery eyes and she was amused to see Courfeyrac doing the same as she, gazing up at the man like his words could save the world from damnation, 'Our fearless leader.' He grinned.

"You are?" He asked.

"Marguerite Boisvert." She answered.

* * *

She'd first met him when Courfeyrac dragged her to a meeting. She knew she didn't belong, she didn't like places with so much people, with so many _good _people. She'd finally been able to force her hand out of Courfeyrac, she sat herself next to a man that looked just as out of place as she did. A man with unruly black hair, wearing a green vest that was the only 'proper' item of his appearance, the bottle of drink and the many empty bottles surrounding him did nothing for the image Marguerite had already made for him.

"Hello to you all." A greeting caused her to head to turn and she thought she saw, out of the corner of her dark blue eyes, the drunkard do that same.

"Enjolras." Someone greeted, raising a glass while everyone else smiled happily at his presence.

_Enjolras. _

An exquisite name that suited an exquisite looking young man, his beauty clouded all other thoughts that usually flooded Marguerite's mind and for a moment she didn't feel out of place at all.

Then it all started, the man started to speak and the room changed. Smiles were replaced with determined faces and all eyes were directed to the leader in red, even the drunks whose glass made a painfully loud 'clunk' on the bar counter as he stared at the beautiful boy.

"Who is this?" The 'fearless' leader asked with little interest.

It took Marguerite a few seconds to realise he was referring to her.

"I'm Marguerite Boisvert." She introduced and the feeling of his hand in hers didn't feel right, his skin burned with life and hers froze with the hate of the street.

Enjolras looked at her in a judging sort of way. And Marguerite knew why: Her clothes, short and revealing and torn. It didn't take much to guess what she was but still the righteous man asked away, maybe out of mock or a genuine curiosity.

"And what do you do?"

"I'm a prostitute."

Courfeyrac sigh was audible and a chocked laugh was heard from the bar and other than that Marguerite didn't hear another word, she trained her eyes on Enjolras and silently dared him to speak on the matter, to comment, to rant.

"My name is Enjolras." The rebel introduced.

"I know." She said and then walked out of the door.

* * *

"Are you truly in love?" Marguerite asked, leaning her chin on her hand gazing up at Marius in mock longing. "Is what Grantaire speaks true? I have come to not trust a word of a drunk as I hardly believe myself but I see truth."

"Do you?" Marius laughed.

"I do. I know what love it; I can see it-It's something that even the blind can see. So let's have it, who's the lucky girl?"

"That's the problem. I do not know but she's the most beautiful woman I have ever seen." Marguerite laughed at the blush that marred the young man's cheeks, the smile that laced his lips made him look like a child.

"I am wounded."

"I mean it Marie, I love her."

"You hardly know her! What a fool you are Marius."

"Did you know Enjolras when you fell for him?"

"I fell for his face, everything else bores me."

"Is that why you listen as closely as Grantaire when he speaks?"

"Marius." Marguerite warned gently. "Let us talk about this girl, please tell me more about your sudden love for this woman."

But as fate would have it as soon as Marius opened his mouth Enjolras made his entrance, all other words were lost as Enjolras glanced at her for a brief second before speaking.

(She convinces herself it's only his face because lust is something she is good at but love is new and alien and destructive and dangerously heart breaking.)

* * *

"Why do you stay?" Enjolras asked. "It's not good for you to stay, not in the mist of the fighting. You do not fight."

"Give me a gun, give me hope." Marguerite said fiercely. "And watch what I can do."

"Do you believe we will win?" He asked, changing the subject like he always did. Enjolras was a master at so many thing but personal subtly wasn't one of them (she says 'personal' in a vain fight with her mind that maybe she and Enjolras were more than just people who spoke when no one else was around).

"Is our fearless leader scared?"

"How do you think this will go?" He asked again because unbeknownst to the both of them is opinions on himself mattered to Enjolras, Marguerite's would mean the most.

She looked at the man, stared at him, gazed at him and saw all his features-both the flaws and the perfections. She knew what she thought and although she wasn't one for telling people what they wanted to hear unless she was on the job but for Enjolras she wanted to make the exception, she wanted Enjolras to rise and to win and to be happy and she wanted to lie and tell him exactly what he wanted to hear but she wasn't that heartless.

"I think you will set yourself aflame before you realise that even you cannot conquer the sun."

"Do not speak in riddles Marguerite, I want only the truth."

"Please be safe. Not just 'you' safe but a reasonable amount of safe that I can believe."

"I did not know you believed in anything? Weren't you and Grantaire a pair?"

"I believe in hope." Marguerite said. "Give me that won't you?"

"I will be safe." Enjolras promised with no real conviction.

"I do have a strong hate for liars."

* * *

"Marius, get some rest." Enjolras ordered in a strangely gentle voice.

His voice was lost as Marguerite sat down in the corner holding her arm for dear life; her arm had been cut by a solider trying to make a grab at her. Although punching him enabled for a few seconds she didn't count on how much of a temper the man had, she made a swipe for his gun and he cut her with the top, if not for Courfeyrac pulling her away yelling insults in concern calling her stubborn and foolish, then Marguerite may not have been sitting there and she honestly didn't know whether that was a good thing or not. She had seen Eponine die in front of her eyes; she had seen Marius holding her body as tightly as he was holding back tears, and the she was gone. Marguerite had seen Gavroche cry, she had seen the ABC bleed, and she had seen Enjolras stand strong and she had seen Grantaire staring at Enjolras like he could save him from something that she knew was death.

Marius lays down near the rubble, the man whose name Marguerite had forgotten stared at him and although it was creepy and odd during a time like that she made no move to comment, she only held her arm tighter and stared at Enjolras.

_Enjolras._

Beautiful, good, capably terrible and amazing and so full of flaws they were hard to see. She stared at him and if her tears were not all dried up she would have wept.

"Bring him home." She whispered in despair.

"You can take, you can give." She tried to reason with God. "Let him be, let him live."

_Oh, Enjolras you stupid fool._

* * *

"NO!" She screamed. She made a dash, made a wild movement to grab at the boy but it was too late. He was gone, he was done, and he had fallen.

A little boy had died and Marguerite was sure she would spend the rest of her life convincing herself it wasn't her fault in some way.

"GAVROCHE!"

Courfeyrac's voice deafened everything else, Marguerite and Combeferre yelled 'Murderer!" as loud as their voices could go but as Courfeyrac held the small boys body and cried Marguerite could do nothing but weep. She wept so violently that Marius held her to keep her up straight, she reached for a gun in vain and fell at Enjolras's side, he looked ready to kill and that was a look she had never seen cross his face before.

"We will make them pay." He said.

"We will make them bleed while we can." Marguerite added.

"We will make them pay for every man." Courfeyrac said his tone full of hate.

The fighting began and Marguerite wasn't sure it was would ever stop.

Until it did.

For her at least.

"Marguerite!"

_Enjolras?_

She couldn't speak, she couldn't move. She felt arms wrap around her and she heard the painful sound of death and gunshots but she couldn't see. She could feel bloody over her eyelids but she could not open them, had she that little strength?

"Open your eyes." She heard Enjolras plead.

"I cannot." She wheezed for it was painful to talk.

"No, no you can. Just try you fool, you street you just try."

Marguerite heard the panic and the pain and she wanted Enjolras to hold her forever, she wanted to say in his arms but she knew what was best, she knew her life meant little in the world while his meant more than armies. He was terrible and better than almost every man.

"Don't you fret, Monsieur Enjolras." She pleaded, her throat was burning but her body was numb. "There's no more pain. A little fall of rain hardly bothers me now." She did her best to sound convincing. Try as she did Marguerite could not open her eyes, she only her Enjolras's raged breath and the war going on her around them, she thought she felt Enjolras move his arm up and a gunshot sounded louder than before but her body was numb and her ears felt cold.

"You're alive, that's all I need to know." She held tightly onto his waist, she thought she felt Enjolras touch her hand gently but she carried on. "And you will save the world. And you will bring the light. And rain will make the flowers grow."

There, she had said it. Her belief in Enjolras for his ears to hear and maybe that was the difference between her and Grantaire. He mocked and kept secret while she opened up her heart for it to break.

"But you will live Marie, I swear it so." That nickname Marius had excitedly come up with sounded familiar falling out of Enjolras's mouth like one of his speeches. "If I could close your wounds with words of hope-"

"Just let me go." Marguerite grasped his hand painfully and pushed it away just as violently. "And let it be."

"Oh, Marie-"

"Oh Enjolras, I would have liked to see how old age looked on one such as you. One who shines with youth, but alas I think this will be a dream I shall not achieve but I do believe it would have been marvellous, superbly beautiful." She whispered and once again made an attempt to push the leader away, she touched his face but she could not see.

She could not feel and she could not breathe.

Marguerite Boisvert could only hear the sound of singing and freedom.

* * *

Love was such a fickle thing, Enjolras had not time for it nor did he have interest but if he did, if he ever found what it was then it would have been surely in that moment. As Enjolras held Marguerite for a brief second love shone brighter than the fighting, if it was love at all.

He did as she wished. He let her go and in one final act of love he kissed her lips so sweetly and it was the only kiss he had ever given in such a way, he dared not look back as he ran away to fight and to die (for Enjolras knew he could build a new future but he could never live in it).

* * *

_For the wretched of the earth_

_There is a flame that never dies._

_Even the darkest night will end_

_And the sun will rise._


End file.
